


Can't Help It

by Aeternum



Series: Leo Inter Serpentes Additional Scenes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:16:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6544513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aeternum/pseuds/Aeternum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius has just been cleared, and Narcissa and Andromeda have helped him and Remus escape the crowds at the Ministry. The <em>Daily Prophet</em> will later mention Narcissa laughing with an Auror, but here's what the paper <em>didn't</em> see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Help It

Narcissa Malfoy can't help it. She laughs.

Not the polite society titter which she had been taught as a young girl. Nor the low, throaty chuckle which is ever so useful when trying to seduce a handsome stranger (though this stranger is certainly most handsome, she thinks). It isn't even the musical tinkle that was designed to draw all the attention in the the room to herself.

No, this laugh is loud, spontaneous, and may or may not be classified as a cackle, if one is overly thorough in classifying laughs. It is the sort of laugh which Narcissa does not usually make in public. It is the sort of laugh which she only ever makes while gossiping with Lucrezia Zabini or Polly Parkinson in the privacy of her own home, or more recently, reminiscing with her sister after more than a few glasses of wine.

It is absolutely, most definitely, not the sort of laugh which one should be making in the middle of the Ministry Atrium, when it is filled to capacity by the crowd which had come to gawk at the very public trial of one's formerly-notorious-killer-but-now-known-to-be-innocent cousin. 

Narcissa does not notice heads swivelling in her direction. She does not notice that a reporter for the _Daily Prophet_ is writing an account of her actions. She does not notice Andromeda pause in front of the Floo, turning to search out the source of her sister's laughter.

She does, however, notice that when he grins back at her, Kingsley Shacklebolt's nose crinkles rather adorably. She notices that his brown eyes have flecks of amber in them that glint when he moves his head. She notices that he smiles easily, with seemingly no ulterior motives.

She _definitely_ notices the way he fills out his red Auror robes.

“We seem to have gathered something of an audience,” Kingsley says, jolting her from her musings.

“Not that I necessarily mind an audience,” Narcissa says in her sultriest voice, “but would you care to join me somewhere more private?”

“Where did you have in mind?” Kingsley asks.

Narcissa, for once, finds herself so distracted by a man that she is completely incapable of remembering the name of any of her favourite restaurants. “Pick me up eight tonight,” she says instead. “You remember where I live, do you not?”

It's the closest they've come to acknowledging the time Kingsley was one of a team of Aurors that searched Malfoy Manor in the wake of Lucius' arrest. Narcissa hadn't been there – she had taken Draco to stay with Andromeda and her family until the trial, and fled to the continent with him afterwards – but she had bribed her way into getting her hands on the reports from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Kingsley doesn't seem surprised that Narcissa is aware of his involvement. “I do.”

“Eight o'clock,” Narcissa repeats. “Wear something Muggle.”

Kingsley frowns. “Something Muggle?”

Narcissa turns cold. “This was a mistake,” she murmurs, feeling her face settle into its haughtiest mask.

She has had enough of Death Eaters, of bigotry, of hatred. Pure-blood prejudice has torn her family apart more than once and she is through, _through_ , with dating anyone who thinks his pure-bloodedness sets him above anyone else. Maybe Andromeda knows an eligible Muggle-born; she's certainly happy enough with Ted...

“You misunderstand me,” Kingsley says, and his slow, deep voice is captivating enough that Narcissa cannot help hearing him out. “I just meant that 'something Muggle' covers a lot of options. Should I wear a suit, or cricketing whites?”

Narcissa laughs again, this time with relief. “A suit will do nicely,” she says.

“Until eight tonight, then,” Kingsley says.

It must be the Auror training that allows Kingsley, who is well over six foot and very broad-shouldered, to disappear seamlessly into the crowd. Narcissa refuses to try to see where he has gone, to peer after him like a schoolgirl. Instead, she turns and heads for the nearest Floo, making sure to swing her hips in case he's watching her leave.  


********

  
“Would you like to come home with me?”

The words are out before Narcissa has even properly thought them through. Instantly, the many reasons why she shouldn't do this rush through her head – she had been intending to speak to Sirius, after giving him a few hours alone with his friend Remus; she wanted to write to Draco asking for details about Harry's performance in the Triwizard Tournament; Kingsley had _searched_ the place, for crying out loud. 

But Kingsley's already smiling, and Narcissa hasn't the heart to rescind the offer. 

“I'd like that very much,” he says.

He doesn't argue when she tells the maitre'd to charge their bill to her account. So many men she's dated have hated her money, have felt their manhood threatened or some such nonsense when she offers to pay that she now uses it as a test. If a man cannot handle her paying a trifling little (or staggeringly expensive, depending on how one looks at it) restaurant bill without pitching a tantrum, he fails the test, and goes home alone.

“I'll pay next time,” is all Kingsley says.

He passes with flying colours.

Outside, the late November night is cold. Narcissa takes Kingsley's arm for warmth, though she would have done the same in a sweltering summer night, and they hurry back to the alley into which Narcissa had Apparated them earlier that evening. After checking to make sure there are no stray Muggles around to see them, Narcissa Apparates them back to the manor.

They land outside the wrought iron gates of Malfoy Manor. When Narcissa goes to withdraw her arm, Kingsley holds onto it. Narcissa smiles, and they walk straight through the gates, which dissolve like smoke for them. The drive inside is long, but there's an almost full moon that lights the way well enough. To be honest, Narcissa thinks a walk in the cold air will do her good. She cannot remember the last time a man made her this flustered. She shouldn't like it – she likes being witty and charming and poised, not nervous and giddy – but she does. 

She likes _him_. 

“You're quiet,” Kingsley eventually says. “I can leave if you want me to.”

“Not at all,” Narcissa says, too quickly, she thinks, blushing in the dark. “I just... I'm a little nervous.”

Honesty? What's _wrong_ with her?

To her eminent relief, Kingsley squeezes her arm. “Me too. The walk will probably do us good.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Narcissa says, then, “unless the peacocks get us.”

Kingsley huffs a laugh. “Peacocks?”

“Peacocks.”

There's a short silence. “Are peacocks some sort of posh slang I'm unfamiliar with?”

“No, I mean the actual bird. Albino peacocks, to be precise. They're something of a Malfoy family tradition. Lucius used to tend to them himself, and without him, they've gone feral,” Narcissa explains. 

Kingsley chuckles. “Feral peacocks?”

“They like to attack anyone out in the grounds. The elves are constantly rounding them up and returning them to their enclosure, but they always get out somehow,” says Narcissa.

She looks up at Kingsley, but it's too dark to really make out his expression. She can see the corners of his eyes crinkling, though, a glint of his teeth in the dark, so she knows he must be smiling. She likes how much he smiles. How much she makes him smile.

“Why don't you just get rid of them?” he asks.

“Well, Hermione's cat Crookshanks likes to chase them,” says Narcissa.

Kingsley comes to a stop, and pulls Narcissa around to face him.

“Let me get this straight,” he says. “You keep a flock of feral peacocks on your grounds just so that, when your son's best friend stays here, her cat may be happy.”

“Yes.”

“For the few weeks a year this may occur.”

Narcissa is bright red now, she can feel it. “When you put it like that, it sounds -”

She stops talking when Kingsley cups her face in his hands. He brushes a strand of hair off her cheek, tucking it behind her ear, then kisses her bared cheek.

“It sounds to me like you're an excellent mother, who loves her son dearly, as well as his friends,” Kingsley says. “Keeping the peacocks might be a little eccentric, I suppose, but in an adorable sort of way.”

Narcissa blinks at him. No one has ever called her adorable, not even when she was a little girl – her parents simply hadn't been the sort – and as a grown woman, well... She is called beautiful, yes, frequently, as well as gorgeous, stunning, and many other variations thereof. But adorable, no. She doesn't quite know how to respond to that.

So she does what she's been longing to do all night.

Narcissa slips her arms between Kingsley's, rests her hands on the back of his neck, and pulls him down so that she can kiss him. The moment her lips touch his all her nervousness melts away. His lips are full and soft, warm, and he knows how to use them. Her own slip easily over his, and she sucks gently on his lower lip. He moans, then laves her top lip with his tongue. 

Narcissa brings one hand down to rest on his hard chest. His own hands leave her face. One slips to the back of her neck to play gently with her hair, while the other drifts lower, coming to a rest in the small of her back. Narcissa arches at the touch and presses her breasts to his chest. The pressure of his firm muscles against her soft breasts is delightful, and she makes a small noise of pleasure. She wants nothing more than to begin ripping off their clothing, but it is far too cold to do so out in the grounds – perhaps in summer, if he's still around then. She pulls back, away, and for a few seconds they merely stare at each other in the moonlight, panting slightly, then she grins. 

“Come on,” she says, slipping her hand into his.

She turns and pulls him up the drive, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. The front doors are opened by a pair of elves, and Narcissa is so impatient to be upstairs that she greets them without even seeing which elves are divesting herself and Kingsley of their coats and her handbag. She is dimly aware of the heavy doors being closed behind her, but by then, she's already got Kingsley halfway up the stairs. 

The hallway is a blur, and then she's pushing open her bedroom door and ushering him inside. Narcissa shuts the door and immediately pushes Kingsley up against it. She follows, pressing herself against him as she leans up to kiss him.

The kiss on the drive had been sweet and gentle; this kiss is hard and frantic and full of need. His hands are everywhere, in her hair, cupping a breast, gripping her arse. Narcissa's unbuttoning his jacket, then his shirt, revealing dark skin covering well-defined muscles. She runs her hands up his torso, tracing his belly button, the ridges on his stomach, then the swell of his chest. His nipples are tight and she dips her head to taste one and then the other.

Kingsley groans, bringing a hand up to grasp her hair, pulling her up so he can kiss her again. It's hard and wet and sloppy and perfect, and Narcissa is sure she's all but dripping by now. She shifts her leg, so that she's straddling one of his strong thighs, and begins to rub herself up against him. She can't help moaning and pressing herself even closer.

“Bed,” Kingsley murmurs against her mouth.

“Yes,” says Narcissa, hardly aware of what she's agreeing to.

When she makes no move to head towards said bed, Kingsley chuckles, then pulls her arms around his neck. She lets him guide her and simply keeps kissing him, then suddenly he dips down and hoists her into the air. He slides his hands down her back and under her arse, then along her thighs, lifting them around his waist. The movement forces her skirt high up her legs, leaving them bare against his warm hands. She drags her mouth away and begins to suck and lick his neck while he walks them both over to her bed.

“Narcissa?”

“Yes?”

“Why is your bed covered in rose petals?”

It's a second before his question fully registers with her, and then she laughs. “Dobby's a bit of a romantic, I'm afraid. He does this with everyone I date. I'll get rid of them, he should have put my wand on my bedside table by now...”

“I'll take care of them,” Kingsley says.

“Leave the champagne and chocolates,” Narcissa says.

Kingsley smiles and takes his hand from her left thigh, and a moment later she feels a tingle of magic brush past her. 

“All taken care of,” he says, then lowers her onto the bed.

Narcissa scoots backwards to the centre of the bed, then kneels up to take her dress off. She pulls it off slowly, revealing herself inch by inch, until she's left kneeling in just her lingerie. She looks good in it, she knows, but all the same, Kingsley's reaction is gratifying. His face takes on a dazed look as he looks her up and down.

“Are you going to join me, or are you just going to watch?” she asks.

Kingsley licks his lips. “I don't mind watching, if you feel like putting on a show.”

Narcissa smiles and reclines as gracefully as she can against her pillows. “What sort of show did you have in mind?” she asks, trailing one hand along her collarbone.

“Pleasure yourself,” says Kingsley.

Narcissa swallows, then reaches behind herself to unclasp her bra. She draws the straps off her shoulders one at a time, then tosses the bra to the floor. Unsupported, her breasts sag a bit, and she has a flash of self-consciousness in front of Kingsley – who's seven years her junior – until she sees the rapidly growing bulge in his trousers. She brings a hand up to play with a breast, gently circling her areola until her nipples tighten. 

She pinches a nipple, rolling it between her fingers while she lowers her other hand and dips it into her knickers. She lets out a quiet sigh as she feels her fingers slip between her labia into the slickness between. She shuts her eyes when she touches her clit, opening them again to find Kingsley's eyes still fixed on her face. 

He shrugs out of his jacket and shirt, muscles rippling in the candlelight. It's Narcissa's turn to lick her lips, and then she plunges two fingers into herself. She's so wet she barely feels it, and quickly adds a third finger, crooking them just so.

“Ohh,” she says.

Kingsley's rubbing himself through his trousers, and Narcissa can't help a cheeky smile. “You're wearing too many clothes,” she says.

“So are you,” says Kingsley, even as he starts to unbutton his trousers.

The only thing Narcissa's got on is a tiny pair of lacy knickers, and she laughs breathlessly as she slides them off and throws them onto the floor. She returns her fingers to her pussy, then brings her other hand to play with her clit. In front of her, Kingsley's stepping out of his trousers, revealing muscular thighs and an erection that's straining to escape from his pants.

“Those too,” Narcissa manages to say. 

She's getting close now, can feel that delicious tightening that heralds an orgasm beginning to build in her belly. She starts to use firmer strokes on her clit, watching greedily as Kingsley peels off his pants. 

“Is this what you want?” he asks in a rough voice, palming himself lightly.

He's not the longest she's ever had, but he's thick, and beautifully shaped. Narcissa nods emphatically, not trusting herself to speak.

“Not yet,” he says. “First, I want to watch you come.”

Well, Narcissa's not going to complain about that. She's panting now, her chest heaving with each breath as she brings herself closer. It isn't long before she's moaning through an orgasm. She draws it out as long as she can, until she's left lying limp against the pillows.

The mattress dips, and Kingsley lies down beside her. He takes one of her hands in his and brings it to his mouth, sucking her juices off each finger in turn. Narcissa can feel her pulse pick up again at the sensation, then he rolls on top of her and kisses her. She can taste herself on his tongue, and moans into his mouth before pulling away.

“Who said you could be on top?” she asks.

“My apologies,” he says with a smile, then flips them over. “Better?”

“Much,” she says, then takes his hands and pins them over his head. “Now stay.”

Narcissa draws back to kiss him again, then stretches over to grab her wand off the bedside table. She casts a protective charm, then straddles his thighs. That glorious erection's right in front of her, and her mouth's watering at the sight of it. Later, she promises herself, before she takes it in hand and guides it inside her. She sinks down slowly, both of them moaning, until he's fully sheathed. She splays her hands on his stomach as she gets used to his width, reaching up to tweak a nipple.

Kingsley starts to bring his hands back down, stopping when Narcissa holds up a hand. “Uh uh. Back where they were, please.”

“You want to do all the work?” Kingsley asks.

“You said you wanted a show,” she reminds him.

Kingsley sighs, but he's smiling. “So I did.”

Narcissa smirks down at him, then starts to move, slowly at first, quickly falling into a steady rhythm. She adjusts the angle of her hips and gasps when he hits her g-spot. Her eyes flutter shut and she tips her head back as she rides him.

Strong hands grip her hips, and then he's helping her move, lifting her up and pulling her back down onto himself. Narcissa's whimpering in pleasure, squeezing around him, and he's groaning beneath her. Sweat's running down her back and she's close again, so close, and then Kingsley starts thrusting up as she falls down and she's coming apart, crying out and shuddering while he pulls her down one last time and groans long and low.

Kingsley lets go of her hips and Narcissa rides out the last of her orgasm before she slows, stops, then collapses onto the bed next to him. She's only just started to catch her breath when his arms encircle her and pull her up so that her head's resting on his chest, her hair immediately sticking to his sweaty chest. She brings a hand up to rest on his stomach and closes her eyes, utterly spent.

It's some time later before either of them speak. Kingsley has a hand playing with Narcissa's hair and she's lazily tracing shapes on his chest with a finger.

“You're nothing like I expected,” Kingsley says.

Narcissa stills. “And what were you expecting?”

“Honestly? I thought you'd be intimidating,” he says.

Narcissa tilts her head back to look at him. “Oh, I can be.”

Kingsley smiles slowly. “I think I might like to see that.”

“Stick around long enough and maybe you will,” she says.

He doesn't answer, just raises her head to kiss her, slowly and deeply. Her toes are tingling when they finally part, and she can feel herself getting wet again. She rubs against him languorously, and he shakes his head.

“Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I'm up for that again just yet,” he says.

“Then what's the point in dating a younger man?” she asks cheekily.

Kingsley laughs yet again – she's quickly getting addicted to the sound – and kisses her nose before sliding down the bed. “How about I show you?”

Narcissa moans and lets her legs fall open. His tongue feels divine, and she fists the duvet beneath her in pleasure. “Oh, I'm definitely keeping you,” she purrs.

Kingsley can't help it. He laughs.

It's rather muffled.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Close Your Eyes and I'll Kiss You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8461234) by [cissamione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissamione/pseuds/cissamione)




End file.
